


More to This

by SapphyValentine



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Less porny than I had planned lol, Light Angst, Non-con exhibitionism, Non-con voyeurism, Semi-established relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-16 09:47:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11826195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphyValentine/pseuds/SapphyValentine
Summary: Arya couldn't decide if confirming her deeply guarded suspicions was worth it— now she didn't know what to believe. Was this romance? Was this manipulation?Perhaps there was a third option;perhaps, she thought pensively,there was more to this than black-and-white truths.—[AU of S7EP5, in which Petyr keeps the letter, and invites Sansa to his chambers for aprivatediscussion instead.]





	More to This

**Author's Note:**

> I hate what D&D have done to these characters this season; everyone is OOC af, and the plots are redundant and rudimentary. Petyr, Sansa, and Arya have been reduced to caricatures for the sake of ~drama~, which doesn't sit well with me.
> 
> Anyway, this is just a little nonsense I thought up a while ago, because it's obvious we're not going to get any legit PxS on this show. Lol here I am complaining about plot, but this little story kind of lacks it sooo...

* * *

Perhaps she should have waited.

Arya was sure of herself when she first entered the room, convinced that Littlefinger had hidden the message somewhere in his chambers. She checked all the obvious places, and the not-so-obvious. It was frustrating, being outsmarted thus far by a smug little man with a lack of proper training in subtlety. Indeed, he thought he was clever, discrete even— but when had he ever been anything but ostentatious in his mannerisms? In his garments? In his manipulation of Sansa?

It was clear to her that he was out of place here, a Southern fop with no true allegiance to House Stark. Arya knew many things about masks, and she could see right through his false niceties to Sansa, and his façade of intelligence.

So when she watched him leave his chambers shortly after the Maester delivered the requested letter, she was convinced that Littlefinger would do the obvious thing in his overconfidence: leave the letter behind.

She was almost done checking the room, still sure of her conviction, when she heard footsteps outside the door. 

Arya had a brief moment of panic, something she had thought she'd long since suppressed. She was slightly angry at herself for her weakness when she ducked under the bed quickly, her small frame easily sliding underneath the sturdy wooden structure, hidden from view. 

The door gently creaked open, and from Arya's vantage point she saw one, then two pairs of shoes tread into the chamber. She immediately recognized Littlefinger, and was bemused to see Sansa's winter slippers glide in behind him. Despite almost being caught spying, Arya was glad that she could be witness to this exchange. It would give her all of the information she needed to properly judge her older sister's character, and see just how far Littlefinger's control went. It's not that she wanted Sansa to be a puppet, but if she was, she would benefit from Arya's extermination of all disloyalty among their ranks in the longterm. 

"Lord Baelish," Sansa said authoritatively, "you said you had something important to share with me."

"Indeed, Lady Stark, something of utmost secrecy for your sake."

There was a slight shuffling sound as Littlefinger opened his overcoat to retrieve something. Arya couldn't quite see what, since her view cut off around their knees, but she hoped it was the letter that she had yet to find.

Her hopes were answered when the sound of a scroll opening echoed around the room, as well as Sansa's slightly worried voice when she responded, "Why are you showing me this?"

Littlefinger took a step towards Sansa before replying, "Because if the Northern lords were to find it, or even your sister—" Arya was only a little wounded when her sister didn't jump to her defense, "—then your position is vulnerable. You are already scrutinized, my dear, and we usually can't escape the past."

Sansa huffed slightly before retorting, "I thought you said the past was gone for good. You always have something clever to say– some  _wise words of counsel_ —"

"Sansa," Littlefinger interrupted. Arya wondered about the familiarity of using first names before he continued, "it's only gone for good when we allow it. When we take control of our future. Our future involves people who would change their loyalties like the seasons if they find _fault_."

 _Hypocrite,_ Arya sneered. Sansa seemed to mirror this sentiment when she stepped closer and retorted, "Sounds like someone in this very room."

There was a short silence before Littlefinger said so quietly that Arya strained to hear him, " _If only I could find fault in you_."

Arya rolled her eyes. So  _this_ was how the great Lord Baelish exerted control over her sister? 

"Lord Baelish—" Sansa began.

"Petyr," Littlefinger quietly interrupted.

"—we can't do this anymore." Sansa finished unsurely.

Whatever reaction Arya was expecting, this was not it.

Sansa cleared her throat softly before continuing, "Just as you say, I have to plan for the future, and if anyone finds out about the letter, about  _this—" And what is_ this, _Sansa?_ Arya thought bewilderedly, "— _then you may as well have left me to die with Ramsay_." There was an edge to Sansa's voice that hadn't been present before. It left Arya wondering once again what exactly had happened in their childhood home.

Arya watched as Littlefinger took a step backward again, footing not as graceful as when he had first walked in.

There was more silence, then tense atmosphere which seemed to almost dim the room as Littlefinger rasped, "Sansa, you must know that I would do anything to ensure your happiness and safety. Starting with this letter—"

"This letter was written by a stupid girl who naïvely followed every order...never questioned her fate. Never thought about an alternative path but the one laid out in front of her," Sansa paused again, taking a ragged breath before finishing, "until you."

Sansa took a step forward, and then another. Arya watched, deepening confusion drawing her brows together.  _Surely Littlefinger wasn't finding damning letters out of pure altruism. So why—_

Sansa sighed. "Forgive me, Lord Baelish. I just feel as though no matter what I do, or who I turn to, I am still that stupid girl. No one sees past that." 

Littlefinger stepped forward. The pair were now standing closer than what Arya had been taught was proper.

"Sansa...you are not stupid. People may try to designate you as such, but only because the truth is a less comforting reality." Littlefinger inched forward again, his boots brushing against the hem of Sansa's skirts. Arya was both glad and disappointed her view was limited.

"And what is the truth, pray tell?" Sansa asked softly, all traces of previous vitriol gone.

"That you're the one with the real power," Littlefinger paused, and Arya listened to him slide his hands around Sansa's waist, "that fate is arbitrary; that there's more than just this..."

"What if this is all I want? What if I want to stop?" Sansa whispered back. There was a different tension in the room, and Arya almost felt wrong being in its presence.

"Do you?" Littlefinger rasped.

Sansa's voice was clear when she replied, "No."

Arya couldn't decide if confirming her deeply guarded suspicions was worth it— now she didn't know what to believe. Was this romance? Was this manipulation?

Perhaps there was a third option; _perhaps_ , she thought pensively, _there was more to this than black-and-white truths._

Her contemplation was interrupted by the sounds of mouths devouring each other hungrily, and the snaps of laces being undone as garments fell to the floor. 

Arya grew very uncomfortable, but there was no way to leave without being noticed. Once again she felt a slight shame for being caught in a compromising situation; she was better than this.

Littlefinger and Sansa moved closer to the bed before finally landing atop it. Arya observed their synchronized movements, confirming that this was most certainly a recurring event.

 _Was this the "_ this" _that they were referring to?_ she wondered, ignoring the increasingly amorous noises.

◊◊◊

Petyr knew she could hear every sound, every movement.

Arya was a wild card; he had planned for an eventual reunion of the sisters, but _this_ girl, this somber thing, was unexpected.

But soon her motivations were clear— he heard about the infamous list, the mercenary training. He could use Arya on his side, but to get there he had to undo her convictions regarding himself and her sister.

 _Keep one's enemies confused_ , he always said.

He knew that she had been watching him, a miser seeking validation of her truths.

She dreamed in black and white— fitting, considering her previous home in Braavos.

Petyr dreamed in grey.

The letter had been the perfect ploy to entice Arya into his chambers, and the perfect subject from which Sansa could not only garner sympathy, but for Petyr to appear a loyal servant.

He ignored the small voice in his mind that whispered he was already a servant to his Queen.  _His_ Queen.

Sansa arched under him as he took a nipple into his mouth, one hand swirling around her clit, giving her exactly what she wanted— they could not waste time.

She was beautiful, small clothes pushed to the side for quick access, the urgency of it all adding to the heightened sensations.

"Petyr...I want you to..." Sansa gasped out.

"What do you want, sweetling?" Petyr knew what she was referring to; his questioning was for Arya's sake.

Knowing that the young defect of the Faceless Men was listening gave him a perverse sense of satisfaction. He wondered not for the first time if Sansa would still allow him into her bed if she knew that he thought, no, _reveled_ in putting her on display.

Petyr was caught off guard when Sansa looked directly into his eyes and murmured, "I want you to make me happy."

He felt his breath catch as a small ripple of emotion passed through him, one that he was becoming uncomfortably familiar with.

That same ripple became a wave when he whispered back without thinking, "Forever."

When he adjusted himself between her thighs and thrust into her, he almost forgot that this was never meant to be more than just pleasing Sansa, keeping her occupied and himself ingratiated.

When he heard her moan and gasp as he moved with increasing urgency, he almost forgot that this whole act was a power play on Arya Stark.

When Sansa flipped him onto his back and rode his cock, clenching around him hard so that he cursed out, he almost forgot that Sansa was still so young, barely a woman of ten and nine. 

And when Sansa fell apart on top of him, his thumb pressed on her clit, he almost forgot that when he came inside of her, he wasn't supposed to picture them as King and Queen Baelish of the Seven Kingdoms.

He almost forgot that in his imagination, he wasn't supposed to just settle for them simply being Lord Baelish and Lady Stark of Winterfell, to hope that there was more to this than fucking.

Sansa collapsed on top of him, her hand tracing his horrid scar, most of it still covered by his linen undershirt. 

He was the first one to speak, their heavy breathing the only sound echoing across the meticulously organized room.

"Sansa, I want you to understand that you have been an invaluable leader throughout King Jon's rule. I'm sure he has appreciated your counsel and your oversight of Winterfell."

Sansa pulled herself up slightly so she could look into his eyes. It was with some pensiveness when she replied, "I was never kind to him as a child. I regret that. Jon and I argued over almost every decision he made, but he is family and an honorable man. I hope he understands that even though our approaches to honor are different, a Stark has always been in Winterfell, and we must do everything we can to keep it that way."

"You speak wisely, my Lady." Petyr was still a tad baffled by her love for Jon Snow, but at least it wasn't without critique.

"Yes, well, I just wish Arya could see that, too," Sansa sighed and looked away.

Petyr smirked. _Sansa always knew just how to play her part, even if she didn't know she had a part to play._

"Arya is...resourceful. I'm sure that if she was privy to your daily oversight of Winterfell, she could see how hard you work to preserve alliances and maintain order. Perhaps Brienne could be that bridge between you two; I think your shield has taken a liking to her." Petyr knew that Brienne was unswerving in her loyalty; she would definitely be the one to bring the sisters together, even in her dislike of him. Maybe Arya could influence Brienne to change her mind, as she was indeed witnessing this positive interaction. 

"Indeed," Sansa looked back at him, her small grateful smile making his heart skip a beat. He would berate himself for that later.

Sansa opened her mouth to say something, paused, and then spoke again hesitantly, "I...did not truly mean what I said before. I do not want to end this."

Petyr took a deep breath before replying, "It's your choice, sweetling. I simply want you to be happy." He gave a small smile, one he used to reassure rather than inspire.

She shook her head. Sansa eyed him before she said firmly, "There's more to this than just my happiness." She turned away and slid off the bed before he could read her expression. 

He wasn't sure if her statement was an accusation or a question.

As he stood and began to redress alongside her, her words continued to repeat themselves in his head.

Petyr dreamed in grey, but he wondered when he began to dislike it where Sansa was involved. 

Arya dreamed in black and white; perhaps only she would know the truth when all was said and done— a disturbing thought.

Before Sansa turned to exit the room, she surprised him by planting a small kiss on his lips.

Petyr wondered what colors Sansa dreamed in.

_Was there was more to this than black and white and grey?_

 


End file.
